Chapter 1 #2
Maeve smiled, and reached down to pet Spinel. “Perhaps because I’ll be there all by myself for the first time . . . I don’t know. I just feel something. . . Different. A change in the wind. I felt it all summer.”
“A Witches instinct is nearly never wrong.”
Maeve’s brows pulled together.
“At any rate,” said Maeve, “I have to do something about my Alchemy score.”
Ambrose groaned and rolled his eyes. “Still on that?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Not if I was already performing at an Elite level in Charms,” laughed Ambrose.
“I suppose,” agreed Maeve after the nice reminder of her success in her favorite subject. “Still not a Supreme though.”
A moment of silence fell between them. Then Ambrose spoke.
“Neither are most Magicals until they are nearing thirty.”
Maeve ignored his rational and asked:
“Do you really think your men are necessary at the school?”
Ambrose nodded. Just as he had each time she asked him about it since it had been voted on and signed into law.
“Do you think Kietel is truly assisting the humans in warfare?”
Ambrose hesitated. “He might be.”
“What does that mean for you?” She asked.
Ambrose smiled softly at her concern for him. “It makes my job tricky. But it changes nothing. I don’t want you using the Main Portal in London or Paris,” he said. “I’ll escort you myself.”
That was against the rules. Rules the Orator’s Office made.
Maeve’s eyes shot to him. “But I wanted to stop by Starlight Seams in London and purchase that broach I saw in the window the other day, before heading to the portals.”
“You already have that,” said Ambrose.
“No, I don’t,” said Maeve simply. “I have the broach that matches Aunt Madrigold’s pin, but not this pin. I know they do look similar.”
“I know the difference,” said Ambrose, smiling mischievously. “I am saying you already have that pin.”
“Oh,” sighed Maeve, realizing her father must have gone behind her back and purchased it.
“It’s already packed for you.”
Ambrose pushed of the balcony ledge and strode towards her. He tucked his hands behind his back and kissed the side of her head.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” said Maeve reaching for his hand.
“Have a wonderful term. Don’t forget to write me.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she promised.
He pulled her out of the seat and guided her onto the clearing on the balcony. Spinel jumped into her arms, granting her a swift kiss on the nose.
Ambrose held out his right hand, palm flat. From it shot a bright white light that began circling up and down, creating an oval shaped mass of Magic.
She dreaded the feeling to come, as she did each time she passed through a portal.
Ambrose squeezed his daughters hand tightly and nodded in confidence. He pulled her close, and together they stepped into the swirling blue and black void.
As if they were moving through syrup, the air around them melted to a halt, the very breaths she took became long and exaggerated. The blue iridescent light twisted into yellows and orange, growing deeper and deeper in shades of color until the red became violet.
The balcony behind them lagged and stretched out of vision.
Then came the part every Magical hated. The air around her compressed, rapidly slamming around her body from every angle, squeezing her until she felt completely flattened.
And then, as though a switch flipped, the violet light brightened back to the calm blue white light, and the world around her shot into full speed.
Maeve didn’t loose her footing as she stepped out of the light, but she ran her hands across her face and let out a shiver, shaking her hands slightly.
Spinel jumped from her arms and took off through the gates ahead.
Golden light flooded her eyes. She breathed deeply as they stepped out into the misty morning light of the mountains. The black gates of Vaukore were swung wide open, welcoming students.
Students arrived in droves through one giant portal near the gates. Maeve was the only student not forced to travel to and from school in such a way. Though, once, before the war, everyone who was able made their own portal to Vaukore. Some used fire to travel.
But magic was being disrupted, and Magical travel, which moved through time and space, was dangerous if they were not strong enough. Deadly even.
The massive portal which students were excitedly filing through was held up by multiple British Magical Militia. Her father’s soldiers.
They had bright golden S’s on their breast pockets. Supreme Magicals. Stronger than all the rest.
Ambrose took her shoulders and turned towards her.
“Their presence changes nothing,” he said. “You study and practice just as last year.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He nodded. And Maeve nodded in return. And he dropped his hands.
They physical affection had been back at home. Ambrose stood straight as a board now. His men were here.
“Have a wonderful term, darling. I’ll see you at Christmas.”
Maeve smiled and turned away from him, making her way to the gates. The Magical Militia didn’t look at her as she passed, but she knew they knew Ambrose was there. And they knew who Maeve was.
Headmaster Elgin stood at the gates, clapping her hands and giving out welcoming hugs.
She reassured a few new students who were huddled together.
She wore a bright white pantsuit with a pinned cape at her shoulders.
Casual clothes for a Witch. Her long, salt and pepper hair was slicked tightly back.
For eleven years she had been one of the Headmasters of Vaukore. And for eleven years she greeted each student by name at the gates.
She smiled at Maeve as she passed. “Maeve. Where’s Spinel?”
“Already hunting in the mountains I’m sure,” answered Maeve with a soft smile.
The ancient magic of Vaukore Academy shifted through her as she crossed the stone threshold past the gates.
She inhaled the power happily as it brushed up her leg with each step.
It was solid, consistent and unyielding.
Like the great stone mountains nestled around it, where golden light cascaded down onto the castle.
Past the gates were the stables, which held single horses, saddled and ready, and numerous horse drawn carriages, for those students uncomfortable riding through the mountain terrain.
She petted a dark black mare that bowed its head at her.
Some of her silken mane was braided intricately with golden jewels and rings.
“Would you like to race?”
Maeve turned.
Malachite Peur stood gripping the reigns of a horse, his Paragon badge shiny as ever. His was emerald and silver. Maeve’s was sapphire and gold. A symbol of their positions and rank in the school. And the colors of their Courts.
“Must it always be a competition,” she drawled as she mounted the black mare.
He was exquisi-
“Where my competition is concerned,” he replied with a gorgeous, feline smile.
He was conceited. Nothing else.
“I’m honored you think of me as competition,” said Maeve in a bored tone, “given that you have an absurdly high option of yourself.”
The youngest Supreme in history. Of course he did.
His raven colored hair fluttered in the morning breeze. He pushed a soft curl off his forehead and looked up at the castle in the distance, a soft smile pulling up at the corners of his lips. Near his cheekbones.
Cheekbones that could cut a girl’s heart right open-
Cheekbones that granted him anything he wanted.
She stared at him with a soft placating smile, but he merely smirked in satisfaction and mounted his horse.
“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to loose to me again this year,” said Malachite.
Maeve rolled her eyes.
She didn’t look back as she squeezed her legs together tightly, and the mare quickly began up the grassy dirt path. They broke the tree line quickly and Maeve smiled.
Vaukore Castle was glowing in the distance.
Chapter 2
“Did you arrive in a private portal?”
Maeve looked up from her book. “What?”
“Everyone says you walked through your own portal with Uncle Ambrose.”
“So what?”
“I had to come in with everyone else!”
Maeve returned to her reading. “You poor thing.”
Abraxas Rosethorn snatched the book from view and tossed it onto the side table.
Maeve frowned up at her cousin. His bright blonde hair styled neatly back, his emerald lined black blazer and pants pressed with perfect seams. Abraxas had a pale boyish face, bright blue eyes, like all the Rosethorn’s, and the confidence of someone far beyond his years.
Spinel stretched in his sleep in her lap, curling his paws tightly across his face.
“We’ve been back not two hours and you’re huddled in the corner of the library reading.”
“I’ve already unpacked,” said Maeve. “And I’m not huddled. This just happens to be favorite armchair. Had to claim it early.”
The Library at Vaukore was nearly a third of the castle. It held ancient knowledge from the all Seven Realms, thousands of years before Magicals fled to Earth.
It was built like most of the castle, grey stone and mahogany wood, belonging once to King Primus, the long dead ruler of all Magic. Before the lines were broken. Before Dread Magic was at war with Shadow Magic. Before the Aterna lost their Magic all together.
Abraxas flipped open the book. “Is this Shakespeare? This looks terribly boring.”
“What do you want, Brax?” Maeve whined.
“Just thought I’d say hello,” said Abraxas, grinning.
“No you didn’t,” said Maeve.
Abraxas shrugged. “Perhaps I came to tell you that you should be writing detentions for a few first years in the lavatory, Miss Hall Monitor.”
Maeve looked up, annoyed.
“Why, what are they doing? And don’t call me that,” she said, but Abraxas was slipping away with her book in hand.
She didn’t protest. She had read it many times. And she knew secretly he’d enjoy the contents.
“You’ll just have to see,” laughed Abraxas.
“Fine,” she sighed, and set Spinel aside. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Abraxas stopped and gave her a guilty look.
“What?” She scoffed. “Too busy with your chums to sit with me?
“I saw you all summer,” he protested.
Maeve waved him off without another word.
She threw on her blazer and straightened the deep sapphire satin bow hanging down her blouse. She made her way down the fourth floor hall, checking each empty classroom for trouble. The lavatories were empty by the time she arrived. She rounded the corner of the trophy room-
“Slacking off, Sinclair.”
Maeve back stepped as Malachite rounded the corner.
He placed his hands behind his back and examined her. His slender and tall frame was statuesque in the shadowed light from the candelabras.
“Not slacking. I just knew you’d have a handle on things,” retorted Maeve, sweetly looking up at him.
He looked down at her with a reproachful look that danced with humor. He knew she was mocking him.
Malachite, called Mal by those closest to him, was a fellow third-year student and top of their class. Top of the school truly. Even with her sister Arianna graduated from Vaukore, she was still in second place to Malachite. He shone in the spotlight.
The boys hung on his every word. The girls tried relentlessly, but his time with them was always short and quiet.
Private.
The way she would want it to-
The Professors and Instructors praised him just for breathing.
But if she was honest with herself, which her bias prevented her from being, his scores and winning streaks earned him those accolades.
But she wasn’t honest with herself. She was convinced his good looks and charm were what sealed him first place.
Certainly not his status as a Supreme.
Malachite gestured for her to walk beside him. They strolled down the corridor, Mal moving with a graceful ease that rivaled her own.
She hated that.
Her knee-length skirt swished as she kept stride with him.
“It’s an honor to be a Paragon,” he said. “Or have you forgotten the meaning of the word? You shouldn’t disregard your duties.” Malachite looked over at her. “I’m sure whatever book your nose was in can wait.”
The corners of Maeve’s lips turned down.
“I don’t need a vocabulary lesson,” she said with a placating grin.
Conceited prick.
“And how can you say that patrolling the halls and giving out petty detentions is more important than learning?”
“I didn’t. I said it could wait,” said Malachite matter-of-factly as he ran his long pale fingers through his raven hair.
“What were they up to anyway? Those students?” Maeve asked as they walked the hall together. “I know you sent Abraxas to find me and point out my slacking.”
Mal frowned. “I did no such thing. I noted your absence. Your cousin rushed to find you. If you felt you were slacking, perhaps that’s your own business.”
They continued with their duties as Paragons, a prestigious title given directly from the Headmasters themselves, and strolled the statue and painting lined halls giving directions to confused first year students and reminding them of the Cauldron Ceremony later that evening.
A few fresh faced students stared at the castle in amazement.
Magic poured from every corner. Even the fire lights themselves burned with ancient magic.
Her black dress code approved sling back thick heels clicked across the floor as they walked mostly in silence.
The first years, freshly eighteen and wide eyed gaped at the enchanted paintings, tapestries are statues. Vaukore Castle’s Magic was alive as ever.
“Rumor has it The Premier escorted you to school himself, despite orders from the Orators Office that all students use the main portal from London to travel to and from this realm.”
“My father never was one for rules,” said Maeve.
“A trait he passed to you.”
Maeve smiled at what was meant to be a dig. “He’s the Premiere. He can do whatever he wants.”
Mal nodded and spoke swiftly. “Must be incredible.”
They reached the courtyard off the first floor.
Flowers grew in abundance here, like at Sinclair Estates.
Maeve ran her fingers across the bright blooms. Green vines snaked their way along the side of the castle, climbing higher and higher against the stone to be closer the sun.
On either side of the shining stone archway down to the grounds were two Magical Militia.
She stood up straight.
Their silver attire perfectly pressed and fitted. Each of them bore that golden S. Maeve suspected each solder here would be a Supreme.
“If you told them to jump, would they?” Asked Mal lowly, no trace of jest in his voice.
“No.” Was all Maeve said. “I am not my father.”
She may have been the Premier’s daughter. But those Magicals answered to Ambrose Sinclair alone.
“That mark on your wrist means something though,” he retorted.
Maeve didn’t look at her wrist. Where three small pointed stars were branded in black ink. Grouped together at the corner of her left wrist. A symbol of her Sinclair blood.
“All it means is that if something happens to me they are in deep shit.”
Mal didn’t laugh.